


i got your name tattooed in an arrow heart

by cresswell



Series: soulmates [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Heist Society, Alternate Universe - Thieves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:23:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1832728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresswell/pseuds/cresswell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bellamy, for the love of god," she breathes, her heels clicking against the bright museum flooring, "I said there was no need for code names."</p>
            </blockquote>





	i got your name tattooed in an arrow heart

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this is a heist society (by ally carter) au, but even if you haven't read it this will still make sense. basically they're rich teenage thieves and they're hella good at what they do.  
> (and if you have read heist society, clarke is kat and bellamy is hale.)

"Rebel to Princess, I repeat, Rebel to Princess." The voice crackles over Clarke's earpiece, making it difficult to school her expression into one of boredom. "Princess, do you copy?"

"Bellamy, for the love of god," she breathes, her heels clicking against the bright museum flooring, "I _said_ there was no need for code names."

"And I _said_ I was going to use them anyway. Honestly, Princess. I'm in charge here."

She glares at the camera nearest to her, knowing Monty will be shrinking back from the screen while Bellamy grins at her reaction. "We both know that _I'm_ in charge here, so don't go fooling yourself into thinking-"

"Break it up, Mom and Dad," a new voice says, sounding amused. Clarke's scowl deepens.

"Shut up, Octavia," She and Bellamy say at the same time, making her roll her eyes so hard it hurts her head. She smiles politely as she passes a security guard and he nods at her in acknowledgement, letting her slide her (stolen) key card into the machine next to the door that holds the new exhibit.

"I'm in," She says into her earpiece as soon as the door shuts behind her, feeling a surge of pride.

"We _know_ , Clarke," Bellamy says, apparently having forgotten the importance of code names. "We have cameras, remember?"

"Speaking of, isn't it time you cut the feeds?" She snaps, far too fed up with his snark this early in the morning. "Unless you want the P.D. to be calling us up in the middle of another heist-"

"Monty's on it," Bellamy replies, his voice sounding a little far away- he's probably leaning over Monty's shoulder to watch in amazement as he shuts down and replaces all the feeds she's appeared on. A moment later, he's got his earpiece back in again. "You see it?"

"There's a lot of boxes," Clarke replies, the frustration evident in her tone. "I don't know how long it will take me to search through them until I find it, and I don't have that much time."

"Start with the smallest boxes. It's a necklace, and an ancient one, so they won't want it knocking into anything."

She nods to herself, checking one last time that she blocked the door from being open before turning to the nearest small box. She presses a button on the side of her ring and a small blade extends. She smiles as she uses it to slice through the packing tape sealing the box shut. "Monty, your knife ring thing is a success."

She hears his cheer faintly in the background of Bellamy's earpiece, and then she tunes out when Octavia asks a question and Bellamy replies. She used to eavesdrop when on the earpiece feed, but she's gotten better. Most of the time it's just Bellamy and Octavia figuring out what they want for dinner, anyway.

There's a knock on the door and Clarke freezes, her arm half inside the small box. A male's voice, probably the guard stationed outside, calls in, "You alright in there, miss?"

"I'm fine," Clarke calls back, her mind racing through possible methods of evasion. She's posing as an art critique, allowing her time and opportunity to get to the necklace by herself, but soon enough the guard will wonder why she's not coming out and why the door's sealed shut. She bites her lip. "Actually, sir, could I get your opinion on something?"

In a few strides, she's back towards the door and carefully shoving aside the large box she'd used to seal it shut. She opens the door, her smile radiant, and sees the guard. "You see, I was just thinking to myself about that new Monet you're displaying..."

She bullshits her way through the distraction, throwing in every term she's learned in her Art History class, and it's working, if the way the guard's eyes are glazing over is any indication. She fumbles quietly beneath her blazer, untucking the back of her shirt enough to remove the syringe that's clipped to her bra. Bellamy's voice is an anxious, angry hiss in her ear, asking her _what the hell is happening,_ but she is only focused on the task at hand.

"Thank you, I think I've got all I need," she cuts the guard off when he starts to reply, and rams the needle into his neck.

His eyes widen before drifting shut, his body swaying before crumpling to the ground, motionless. She nudges him aside with her foot and moves the box back in front of the door, straightening her blazer before replying. "All's good here."

 _"Clarke,"_ Bellamy says,his voice nothing but a growl, and she ignores him, digging back in the box. "I knew I should have sent Jasper in with you."

"I handled it just fine on my own," she replies, her voice hard. "The guy's currently drugged and lying at my- oh!" 

She pulls back her hand, peering into the small box, and sees the necklace. It's beautiful, even more so than it is in the picture their client gave them, a large red gem glinting in the light. "Got it."

Bellamy breathes a sigh of relief, and she knows even without seeing him that he's rubbing a hand over his face as all the stress and tension seeps out of his body. "Thank god. Okay, Jas should be in any second to get you out."

"No rush," She replies, holding the necklace up to examine it more closely. "I'm fine here."

A ceiling tile slides out of place and Jasper peeks out, hanging his head upside down to see her. His goggles cling precariously to his hair, and he frowns when he sees the body of the guard with the syringe in his neck. "Dead?"

"Drugged," Clarke replies, slipping the necklace carefully into her pocket and standing beneath Jasper with her arms extended. "You gonna hang there all day or are you gonna get me out?"

"Oh. Right." Jasper sounds momentarily embarrassed, his head disappearing from the opening in the ceiling. A second later his feet dangle out, and he lowers himself easily to the ground, a halter around his hips attached to a zip chord. "Here we go."

Clarke winds her arms around him, a sort of too-tight hug that would be awkward if she hadn't done it hundreds of times before. She can't even count how many times she and Jasper have been in this same situation, him swooping in at the last second to pull her out of harm's way. He smiles at her as they zoom back up towards the ceiling, completely at ease. "Everything go smoothly?"

"Yep," Clarke confirms, wiggling off him when they stop inside the air vent. It's spacious enough for her to pull her legs in without kicking him in the face, but small enough that they fumble with the zip chord for a moment. "Almost boringly so."

"Only you would think avoiding death is boring," Jasper replies wryly, finally unhooking the zip chord and crawling forward on his hands and knees. Clarke follows close behind, his voice bouncing off the walls of the vents. "Well, and Bellamy."

"How'd Octavia's mission go?"

Octavia is the distractor, at least the majority of the time. She'd been assigned the job of staging an accident to get the guards out of the monitoring room so Monty and Bellamy could take over. "Perfectly," Jasper replies, and Clarke smiles fondly at the way his voice takes on that dreamy quality, the same way it does every time he's talking about Octavia.

"Thanks," Octavia's voice crackles in their earpieces, and they both jump. The other three on the line had been mostly quiet since Jasper dropped in but now Clarke can hear slight fumbling, like they're adjusting the positioning of their earpieces. "You're not so bad yourself, Jas."

Clarke can practically feel Jasper glowing at Octavia's compliment and she rolls her eyes, nudging him forward with a hand on his thigh when he stops. They clamber forward in silence after that, Monty and Bellamy mumbling to each other distractedly, and Clarke feels the small sliver of claustrophobia she possesses start to worm its way into her stomach. Her fingers slip against the cool metal of the vents and she swears.

"Something wrong, Princess?" Bellamy asks, his voice closer to his microphone.

"The vents are a bit smaller than anticipated, that's all," she replies, trying to keep her tone even and calm.

"Almost there, Clarke," Jasper says over his shoulder, and she squeezes his foot in a silent sign of thanks. She's more than used to wiggling her way through tight spaces, but a while back when they were working a job, a guard hard started firing into the air vent they'd been in. Bellamy had put a stop to him quickly, but the trauma had never quite left her.

Finally, Jasper stops in front of her and fiddles with the tile below him. It slides away easily and he hooks his zip chord to the edge of the opening, squirming around awkwardly until he gets his feet to dangle out. "Come here."

Clarke does, wriggling like he had until she has her legs out too. She wraps her arms tight around his midsection, getting a faceful of flyaway hair. "Good to go."

Jasper lowers them to the ground, and dropping down is scarier for Clarke than going up. It's hardly a big drop but she hates feeling like she doesn't have control over things going on around her, so she hates this too, even though she would trust Jasper with her life.

She unwinds herself from where she's coiled around him when his feet hit the floor, brushing her hair out of her face and straightening her skirt. They're in the monitoring room with Monty and Bellamy now, the latter leaning against a wall like he hasn't got a care in the world. (Clarke knows it's just an act, because she knows him, but it still annoys her nonetheless.)

"Well?" He asks, jerking his chin in a _come hither_ motion. "Let's see it, then."

Clarke pulls the necklace from her pocket, admiring it once more as it reflects the overhead lighting. "Hardly a scratch on it. Of course, now my fingerprints are all over it, but-"

"But Monty can take care of that," Bellamy finishes for her, and she nods.

They leave the monitoring room one by one, Bellamy first, still wearing his stolen security uniform. Monty's hastily clicking at the computers, wiping away any and all trace of them, when Jasper leaves and it's just him and Clarke.

"When're you going to forgive him?" Monty's voice is nonchalant but Clarke's shoulders tense anyway. It's not like it's an uncommon question; Octavia whines it over cereal nearly every morning. But Monty's always been so strictly neutral when it came to the rift between Clarke and Bellamy, and this feels almost like a betrayal.

Clarke frowns at his back. "Not any time soon."

"He was only doing what he thought as best, Clarke-"

"Yeah, for _him,"_ Clarke says fiercely, and Monty drops silent. She feels bad; Monty's so sweet and considerate, but talking about Bellamy in the last two months has made her want to strangle the smirk right off his face. She glances at her watch. She should technically wait another three minutes before following Jasper out, but she wants to leave the conversation behind. "I'm out."

Monty makes an affirmative noise behind her and she opens the door, straightening her blazer and holding her chin up.

* * *

The Blakes' estate is large and sprawling, the interior gleaming wood and the exterior elegant stone columns. Clarke and Octavia have practically a whole wing to themselves, and when they were younger they would consider it a blessing that they didn't have to be around any of the boys. But then they grew and Octavia had kissed Jasper (and probably Monty as well; they're kind of a packaged deal) and now the distance makes Octavia high maintenance.

"Let's rig their doors with tripwires that set off pepper spray," she suggests that night, her head lolling off the edge of her bed so she can braid her hair while it dries.

Clarke looks at her in alarm.

"Okay, you're right- maybe with tripwires that shoot ring daggers?"

"I think you're forgetting one very important thing," Clarke says matter-of-factly, only a little concerned that Octavia's coming up with a scheme that could potentially kill her brother. "They're hardly even awake when they stumble out their door. They wouldn't be able to dodge for shit."

Octavia frowns, looking like a contorted smile from Clarke's angle. "Shit. I guess you're right."

"Is this what being a teenage girl is?" Clarke asks, flopping down next to Octavia. "Trying to booby trap teenage boys with weaponry?"

Octavia shrugs. "Hell if I know."

They watch late-night TV until they can fall asleep, and even though Clarke knows it's stupid to stay up so late when they have work to do in the morning, she can't bring herself to chastise Octavia. Besides, the younger girl falls asleep quick enough, snoring softly. Clarke finishes off their bowl of pretzels on her own, slowly standing up and stretching out her limbs. She closes the door behind her quietly, peeking in one last time to make sure she didn't wake up Octavia.

She pads downstairs, her socks slippery against the gleamy wooden flooring. The boys' wing is quiet, which is unusual; usually she can hear thumping bass, like they're having a dance party or something. Whatever teenage boys do.

When she reaches the kitchen, she rinses the bowl in the sink and bends to put it in the dishwasher. Bellamy and Octavia always get frustrated when she does it, saying it's a job for the maids, but Clarke didn't grow up in that lifestyle and she doesn't want to make any more work for the maids than necessary.

"Bad dreams again?"

Clarke jumps nearly a foot in the air, the bowl in her hands clattering to the floor. She whirls around, a mallet ready in her hands, but it's just Bellamy. He leans against the stainless steel refrigerator in his sleep clothes, his hair messy and sticking up. He looks far too pleased with himself.

"No," Clarke replies, short, and turns back to the sink. She can see his reflection in the window in front of her, and he walks towards her slowly, looking at her like she's prey to him. "You?"

"Yeah," he breathes, close enough now that she can hear it. She doesn't say anything, just stares resolutely into the sink. He wraps his fingers around hers, making her jump and tense, and gently pulls the mallet out of her hand. "You won't be needing that."

"I don't know," she replies, twisting away so her back is to him. It's hard, with the dishwasher bracketing her to Bellamy's body, but she manages. "I still might."

"Clarke." She can't tell if it's an admonition or a plea, and she works on wiggling her way out from between him and the dishwasher. "Are we going to talk about this?"

"I don't want to talk to you," she says back, finally breaking free. When she puts enough space between them, she turns and looks at him. To her surprise, he looks hurt. It makes something sting in her chest but her anger wins out over her kindness. "Ever."

She's halfway up the stairwell when his voice calls out to her. "I did it for you."

She whirls, finding him hovering at the foot of the stairs like he's not sure if he should follow her. Part of her wishes he would.

"No," she replies, the fight going out of her. "You did it for _you."_

* * *

Clarke is tired in the morning. It's because after her encounter with Bellamy, she'd tossed around in her sheets all night, unable to sleep. She was usually able to sleep whenever, wherever, but Bellamy tends to screw with her head.

When she does wake up, Octavia is towel-drying her hair, steam following her from their shared bathroom. "Jasper's making breakfast," she says, clearly trying to cheer Clarke up, knowing she'd had a rough time sleeping. "Bellamy asked for us all to come down dressed and ready."

"Okay," Clarke, sighs in frustration, slapping her hand down on her fluffy comforter, "how does he expect us to come down 'dressed and ready' when we don't even know what we're dressing _for?"_

Octavia shrugs, tossing her towel over one of the towel racks. "I don't know. That's just how he is." She squints at Clarke in the mirror on her vanity. "Something wrong?"

"I just couldn't sleep," Clarke replies, a little wearily, and staggers to the bathroom.

When she comes back out, Octavia's gone. She tries to find a pair of jeans that don't have a hole or a stain on them, but she lucks out. _This is what I was trying to escape,_ she thinks as she walks down the stairs, her hair already starting to dry wild and curly.

Monty offers her a hesitant smile when she sits down next to him at the table, and again she feels awful for being so harsh to him the day before. She leans in to give him a hug, feeling him stiffen. Clarke's not a big hugger; that's Jasper, and every time she hugs one of them, they think she's up to something.

"Oh, relax," she says dryly when she pulls back, rolling her eyes at his suspicious face. "Can't I just hug my friend?"

"You can hug me," Bellamy buts in, walking into the room with a plate piled high with scrambled eggs and bacon.

Clarke practically growls. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that so I don't have to punch you in the face."

Octavia snorts into her orange juice. Bellamy glowers.

Jasper skirts around Bellamy then, breaking through tension, and his arms are loaded with plates for the rest of them. They each murmur their plates with rumbling stomachs and Clarke watches from the corner of her eye as Bellamy sits down at the head of the table. Making sure she has his eye, she picks up her plate and moves deliberately to the other end of the table.

The others stare at her. Bellamy's knuckles are white on his fork and knife.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense, Bell," Clarke says lightly, stabbing a piece of egg with her fork. "You got us up at this ungodly hour. What's the emergency?"

Octavia is grinning widely now, her hand angled next to her face so her brother can't see. Monty is not-so-subtly shaking his head at her. But she just keeps her gaze on Bellamy, her smile the one of a predator's.

"No emergency," Bellamy says at last, forcing his gaze away from her. He holds up a manila envelope. "We got a job."

"Another one?" Octavia whines, Jasper and Monty echoing her dismay. "We _just_ finished one."

"We're in the business, Octavia," Bellamy replies tiredly, like he says it every day, and he pretty much does. "Besides, this one's exciting."

Clarke raises an eyebrow at him over the rim of her glass, and she sees his jaw tighten. "Do tell, then."

"Do you guys all remember Lincoln?" Bellamy asks, and they all nod. Lincoln's tall and broad and very good at what he does. They had traveled to Egypt a year or two ago to assist him with snagging a mummified artifact. All Clarke really remembers is that it was hot and she was sweaty and Bellamy kept kissing her in the midst of all the tombs and she felt gross about it but not gross enough to stop.

"He needs our help again," Bellamy continues, spreading open the folder on the table.

"And when's he gonna help us?" Octavia challenges, her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. "We aren't just at his beck and call, you know."

"You're right, but we do help those who need it," Bellamy replies, such a graceful answer that her elbow slips off the tabletop. He gives her a weird look before going back to his papers. "There's an old scroll in a library's archive. One of his clients need it. It's about alternative healing, or something- hell if I know. Point is, he asked us to get it. Should be easy enough."

"Where is this scroll?" Jasper asks.

"Right here in town, which is why he asked us to be the ones to get it."

There's an audible inhale of breath from all of them at that. Working in the town you call home is dangerous and risky; almost reckless. Clarke feels herself shaking her head. "Are you crazy? Call him back and tell him no."

He levels his gaze at her, and for once it's not angry or annoyed or intimate. "He has something we want."

"Which is what?"

Bellamy looks away, kicking his foot against the table leg. "It doesn't matter."

"What do you mean it doesn't-"

"Look, Clarke," he cuts off, voice louder than hers. "I'll tell you when I've got it in my hands, okay? But until then, you're just going to trust me." He turns his gaze so he can look at the rest of their ragtag group. "All of you."

Clarke wants, more than anything, to spit out that she _doesn't_ trust him; how _could_ she trust him again after what he did, after everything, but the rest of her friends are nodding in agreement, making Bellamy's face flood with relief.

Clarke pushes herself up from her chair, startling them all. "I'll do the dishes."

* * *

Bellamy is the planner, the executer. He decides what jobs they take, he decides who plays what part, and he decides when they ditch their job and haul ass. Clarke is his equal, though, and they all know it- she works out the finer details, like what disguises they'll need and what weapons or supplies they'll need to bring. 

So when Bellamy had suggested- no, _ordered-_ that he go into the library with her as protection, she'd nearly thrown a hissy fit. He'd said that after the guard had walked in on her while she was looking for the necklace, he wasn't taking any chances. But she knew better: she knew he just wanted an excuse to be around her because she wasn't giving him one.

One of the library aids smile at them as they approach, her hands stilling on her keyboard. "Hello. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes," Clarke replies before Bellamy can start flirting. "We're with the Smithsonian and your manager emailed us that there's a document we might be interested in? Usually we wouldn't come down on a whim, but he mentioned it was from Catherine the Great to her cousin Peter. We've been putting together a collection of her personal affects, and it'd be a great addition." She smiles for charm, knowing she looks fancy and official in her nice dress and heels. "Would someone please let us examine this document?"

"Oh, of course!" The girl replies, like she actually cares about some ratty old scroll. "There's nothing on my calendar about this, but I can just call the manager-"

"No need," Bellamy cuts in, digging in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a note that's only slightly crumpled. "He signed off on it last week. Today was the earliest we could come."

The girl hardly glances at it, and Clarke's a little dismayed that all Jasper's hard work will have been for nothing. Forgery is one of his strong suits. The aid grabs a set of keys and motions for them to follow her with a smile. "This way, please."

Bellamy's fingers bump hers as they follow the girl, and under normal circumstances, she'd shove him away. But they're on a mission and she knows this is his way of saying _good job,_ so she lets it go.

The girl unlocks a wide, polished door that's at the bottom of a flight of steps, motioning them in with a smile. "The archives are... messy, to say the least, so I apologize. I'd stay and help you look, but one of the other aids is sick today, so I'm covering her shift." She gives them a sympathetic smile. "When you're finished, just come back to the desk so I can lock up, okay? My name's Raven, by the way."

They wait until Raven closes the door behind her to exhale, Clarke clawing at the tight seam of her dress. "God damn. Octavia's smaller than I remember."

"Yeah, well," Bellamy says, his back to her. "We had to pick up your slack while you were gone. We all lost some weight."

"Don't give me shit for wanting better for myself," she warns, purposefully knocking into him as she brushes past. "Forgive me for not wanting to be a criminal for the rest of my life."

"But you _are,_ Clarke," Bellamy responds, voice frustrated, and she turns on her heel to face him, only wobbling a little. "Don't you get it? Even if you leave this life, all the things you've done will still follow you!"

"I don't want them to! I regret every single job I've ever worked!"

"No you don't," Bellamy says immediately, almost cutting her off. "You love it. You're the one that got us in this, remember? You came to me when your mother-"

 _"Don't you talk about my mother,"_ Clarke snarls, her hand moving lightning-quick and pushing him against a shelf, holding him there with her hand on his sternum. "My mother is dead because of you."

"No," Bellamy says back, eyes full of pity in a way that Clarke hates. "That's what Lincoln's giving me in exchange for the document. Information about where your mother is."

Clarke feels like she can't breathe. Her hand goes tighter on him, fingers on his neck, and she can feel his pulse pounding there. "My mother is _dead. That's_ where she is."

"Clarke, listen," he says, voice a little raspy because of her grip. "She wanted out. Just like you, okay? She wanted out so she faked her death. That's the only way out."

"Liar!" Clarke shouts, pushing back off of him with enough force that the bookcase he's leaning on rattles. She walks away, knotting her fingers in her hair. "I had a way out!"

"Please," Bellamy snorts, and when she turns he's popping his joints like he's readying for a fight. "Boarding school's hardly a way out."

"But I was happy!" She screams, sounding shrill even to her own ears, and slams her hand against his chest. "I had friends! I had a future! I had people who loved me, and you took that all away!"

"That boy didn't love you," Bellamy spits out, eyes ablaze, and Clarke feels herself backing down a little. "None of them did. _We're_ your family, Clarke. _We_ love you."

He said _we,_ but they both knew he meant _I._

"You've got a funny way of showing it," She snaps, getting back up in his face again. "I was happy. And you took that away."

"Getting you thrown out of that school was the best thing I ever did for you-"

Her palm meets his cheek with a resounding smack and his head snaps back and then forward like whiplash, eyes wide in shock and maybe even fear. She thinks she's crying but she'll be damned if she lets him see her break, so she yanks him forward by his shirt collar. "You don't get to decide what's good for me. Not anymore."

She backs up, keeping him pinned there with her gaze, and then says, "Now help me find that goddamn document."

* * *

Saturdays are often rest days for them, and this one is no different. Monty and Jasper are playing with the new remote control car Monty invented, one that's roughly the size of a golf cart. Octavia is reorganizing her room, something she only does when she's stressed, and had barricaded the door so no one could come in and mess up her progress.

Clarke is curled up on the couch in one of the many wide living rooms, an expensive blanket pulled over her. She'd told Octavia she was going to watch TV, but the remote sits in its basket, and she's just been staring at nothing and rubbing the fabric of the blanket between her fingers.

She hears footfalls and squeezes her eyes shut, knowing there's only one person it could be, and she's proved right when he clears his throat. Clarke keeps her eyes closed, hoping he'll believe she's napping, but of course he doesn't.

"I didn't come here to start anything," he says, his voice quiet but somehow still sounding very loud in the still house. She hears him sit down in one of the leather chairs near her, hating that she's still so attuned to him. "I just wanted to drop these off. Lincoln's word is good."

Her eyes flutter open without her permission, the room too soft and bright all at once, and it takes her a moment to focus her gaze on him. "I don't know if I want them."

Bellamy's clearly surprised, but he doesn't jump down her throat like he would have six months ago. "Okay. Just... I'll leave them here, just in case." He gets up, starting to the door, and then she surprises herself.

"She got out," she calls out, stopping him. "She got out and I don't think it'd be fair to take that from her."

He looks in pain, and for the first time Clarke realizes that he regrets what he did, pulling her out of her normal life and submerging her back into this one without her permission. There's a hole in the pocket of his jeans and he starts fiddling with it, something Clarke knows to be an anxious habit, and she watches with her heart in her throat as he slants his eyes to the ground. "I'm sorry. I know I never said it, but I am. I'm really sorry."

She lets the silence hang there for a moment before inhaling deeply, able to recognize his scent even from across the room. "I know you are."

He takes a step towards her, unsure, and she presses on. "I know you only did it because you thought it was best for me. I know that. You've always only done what you thought was best for me, and I can't hold that against you."

"You can," Bellamy says, self-depreciating as ever, but she can see his resolve crumble as he takes a few more steps towards her. "You should."

"I shouldn't," Clarke replies, a little fierce, and tilts her head in a challenge. "You were right. You're the one that loves me the most."

He crosses the room in a few long strides, stretching his body across hers on the couch so he can kiss her. It's not as earth-shattering as their first kiss- one that took place on the side of a skyscraper while they were working a job- but she thinks it's a close second. She realizes with overwhelming warmth that she's missed the way she feels when she's bracketed by his body and missed the way he smells like soap and leather and boy. He kisses her like he'll never get the chance to kiss her again, and suddenly she feels the need to assure him that he will, he will, he _will._

"Hi," she says dumbly when she turns her head to the side a little, his lips slipping down her cheek. She can feel his laughter, soft against her skin, and blushes in embarrassment.

"Hey," he says back, voice gentle and affectionate, and she maps the contours of his face with her fingers. She plays connect-the-dots with his freckles, moving her hands to tug on his soft, messy hair a little bit.

"I don't want to get out if it means I don't have you," she says finally, her voice hardly above a whisper.

It's such a monumental moment for her after everything, after her mother's death and her leaving and Bellamy's betrayal, and she feels her heartbeat pick up in anxiety and fear of how he'll react. But he just kisses her nose, light and gentle, and wriggles himself between her body and the back of the couch.

"Wherever you go, I'll go," he says, bumping their noses together so their foreheads can rest against each other, and Clarke feels butterflies soar all across her skin.

 

 

 

 


End file.
